


Scars of the Heart

by Ethereal_Wishes



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Orphans, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 05:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7922953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethereal_Wishes/pseuds/Ethereal_Wishes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story was written for Clarahue (Ouat-fan girls) on tumblr for the OUAT Positivity Gift Exchange. She prompted "You're in my bed, but I don't know who you are". </p><p>Everett Gold comes home late one night to find an estranged woman sleeping in his bed. Belle French has ran away from the Celestial Heights Sanatorium after being falsely diagnosed with a mental disorder. The institution has been keeping her there against her will for years after the orphanage kicked her out. Will Everett provide sanctuary for the mysterious stranger or turn her back over to her abusers?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars of the Heart

Scars of the Heart

A/AN: Ouat-fangirls (Natalie), it's been a pleasure to write this for you. I hope it meets all of your expectations. It's been a joy to be your OUAT Positivity "Gifter" during this exchange! Enjoy, dearest!

Sirens wailed in the background as she made her way down Ozark Street. The police were searching for her. She'd been involuntarily staying in the Celestial Heights Mental Institution for the past ten years. She was sent there because the orphanage was overcrowded. Most people didn't want to adopt fourteen year old girls, so she had no other choice but to wholly embrace her fate. Before she was sent to Morning Star Children's Home, she lived a very fulfilling life. Her father, Maurice French had been an archeologist which gave her the opportunity to see many places in the world others would only dream of. She'd barely known her mother who'd passed away from lymphoma when she was merely three years old.

The shining light in her father's otherwise mundane existence was her. They'd traveled the world until she was ten, and then the malaria had stolen him away from her. Maurice didn't believe in vaccinations or man's medicine for ailments. He'd relied on the herbal remedies the people in the jungles of Africa had educated him about. The place which they were stationed didn't have a functioning medical facility, and he quickly wasted away. Belle found herself on a plane rerouted for the states. Her parents had no living relatives, so she was immediately shipped off to the orphanage. Maurice had an unmeasurable amount of debt hanging over his head which meant all of their assets now belonged to the federal government.

This left Belle with little belongings and a few clothes on her back. She was barely twelve years old, and Morning Star wasn't too keen on taking in older children. Belle kept to herself and did her best to please Mother Superior and the other nuns, but it hadn't been enough. The orphanage was becoming overcrowded, and new children were arriving every day. Mother Superior had struck some kind of deranged deal with Celestial Heights, and on her fourteenth birthday, she found herself being toted off to the sanatorium.

She wasn't insane, but the asylum tried to convince her otherwise. She found herself subjected to drug cocktails, restraints, and prolonged isolation. The only time any of the children were allowed out of their rooms was when a government official stopped by. They were allotted a shower once a week but it was always timed. They were never permitted to journey outside or participate in social activities. She expected to be released when she turned eighteen, but the facility made up excuses to keep her by lying on her psych evaluations. They'd falsely diagnosed her with schizophrenia and bipolar disorder. Celestial Heights collected funds off of each patient which the establishment greedily used to line their own pockets with.

They couldn't afford to release her when she was such a liability to them. Luckily for her, she'd charmed one of the night nurses named, Johanna. Johanna had frizzy ginger curls and sneaked her in several ratty paperbacks from time to time. Belle hid them beneath her mattress. Reading had become her safe haven and her only link to sanity. Escaping into other realms became her only means to cope with her miserable existence. She often dreamed of escaping the asylum and prayed to any god who would listen to her that day would come.

On this very night her prayers had been answered. A crazed resident had pulled the fire alarm which automatically opened everyone's doors. Another patient began screaming like a raving lunatic as the sprinklers went off. Belle slipped out of one of the exits unnoticed, and bolted across the property. She managed to scale the barbwire fence and slip over it. Her thin cotton robe was shredded and her legs were scratched, but it was a small price to pay for her freedom. The twenty-four year old had no idea where she was going as she aimlessly wandered around an upscale neighborhood.

The howling sirens grew fainter in the distance, and she slowed to a steady pace once she realized she was safe. She halted when she came to a towering Victorian which appealed to her senses. The doll like house looked like it'd emerged right out of one of her books. She plodded into the yard, pulling her thin shift tightly around her shoulders to ward off the chill of the night air. The occupants of the house were either sleeping or weren't home. She hoped for the later as she fumbled with the lock. The knob was made of an antique brass, which she easily manipulated with an obsolete bobby pin which had fallen out of Johanna's hair one night. She'd stowed it away until an opportunity such as this one presented itself.

Belle soundlessly pushed open the door. She stepped into the foyer, latching the door immediately behind her. She listened intently for any movement or sound, but heard nothing but the ticking of an antique grandfather clock standing in the hallway. She ran her fingers through her tangled tresses, itching for a shower. She assumed no one was home and decided she better make decent use of her allotted time. She longed to explore the mansion but suddenly felt lethargic.

She forced herself to climb the stairs, the pale moonlight filtering through the numerous windows, gifting her with enough illumination to find the bathroom. She flipped the switch inside the washroom to find it had been fully stocked with a substantial amount of shampoos and soaps. Belle noted they were solely male products, which she surmised meant this lavish abode was probably occupied by a lonely bachelor. She didn't rightly care who lived here, for her mind was currently fixated on having a hot shower. She shredded her flimsy rags and turned on the faucet.

Her toes curled as steam filled the room. She climbed into the lavish tub, moaning appreciatively as the tepid water pleasantly caressed her skin. She grabbed a bar of Irish Spring soap and heavily lathered her body. She washed away all traces of grime and dust before rinsing off under the steady stream of water. She plucked a half empty bottle of shampoo out of the shower caddy and dumped it in her hair. She massaged her scalp, evening out the shampoo throughout her locks. She rinsed out her hair and then turned off the water. Stepping out of the tub wringing wet, she opened up a nearby cabinet to find an array of plush towels. She dried off thoroughly, and then cleaned up the puddles which dotted the tile.

She noticed a navy robe draped over a chair. Picking it up, she wrapped it around her slender frame. It was slightly oversized, but would meet her needs for the evening. She clamored out of the bathroom and pushed open another door adjacent from it. The door she opened led to a bedroom with an assortment of cardboard boxes which dotted the mattress. She wrinkled her nose, shutting the door behind her. She wouldn't be sleeping there for the night. She made her way down the elongated hallway lined with a series of twin doors. Opening the door of each room she was met with the same results. She almost gave up until she came to the final door at the end of the hall. She entered the vacant bedroom which undoubtedly belonged to the master of the house. The covers were turned back as if they were inviting her to slip beneath them. She sighed in relief as she climbed under the silken sheets, slumber stealing her away instantaneously.

Everett Gold sighed exhaustively as he pulled into the driveway. He'd driven out of town for the weekend to visit his son, Neal. Neal and his wife Emma had recently moved to a quaint little town called Storybrooke. Emma had been offered a position there as the town sheriff after graduating from the police academy. Neal had recently opened up a local shop to sell antiques. Gold was a successful real estate agent, and owned nearly half the properties in Misthaven. He'd recently put his current property up for sale and planned to move to Storybrooke to be closer to his son. He'd purchased a quiet lakeside cabin to live out his 'golden years', though in reality, he was only forty-five.

During his stay, he'd arranged for some furniture to be delivered to his new residence. He'd been packing up boxes for weeks, and his transition was almost complete. He planned to pack the rest of his belongings this week and have them delivered to the cabin by Friday. Tonight all he wanted to do was get a decent night's rest. He exited his vehicle and made his way up the steps.

Everett pushed the key into the lock and turned it, opening the door of his expansive Victorian mansion, and taking time to place his coat on the rack. He stepped out of his expensive loafers, closing the door behind him. He climbed the stairs and walked to the end of the hall where he pushed his bedroom door open, blissfully unaware of the snoozing woman which currently occupied it.

The room was dark, and his vision hadn't quite adjusted to his surroundings. He removed his dress shirt and slacks and climbed into bed. He froze when he felt the warm body settled next to him. He heard them mutter incoherently as he made contact with their skin. He was too stunned to react as he inhaled the warm earthy musk of their freshly washed hair. As his eyes adjusted, he made out the slender form of a young woman. A woman who was wearing his bathrobe, he observed. The spell was quickly broken as he snapped out of his trance this enchantress had placed on him. Hopping out of bed, he turned on the light.

The woman didn't stir from her sleep as soft light brightened the room. He wasn't sure who she was, but part of him didn't wish to frighten her as awkward and inappropriate as this scenario was.

"It's time to wake up, dearie!" Gold commanded in his Glaswegian accent. The young woman sat up in bed, her azure irises mirroring twin saucers. She pulled the duvet protectively over her body, consternation flashing in her iolite depths.

"I-I-I'm sorry! Please, let me explain!" she stammered, swallowing back the anxious knot in her throat. Her hair was a lovely chestnut hue, and fell in her eyes in a tousled disarray. He couldn't help but admire how angelic she was despite this bizarre situation.

"You have three minutes, or I'm calling the cops," he forewarned, crossing his arms loosely under his bare chest, casting her a stern glance.

"Please, you can't! I'll tell you everything if you promise not to involve the authorities. I swear I didn't mean any trouble, but I cannot go back there!" she pleaded, and he could sense the despondency in her voice.

"Go on," he said gently, his voice lowering an octave.

She respired deeply before relaying her tale to him. "My father was a world renowned archeologist, Maurice French. We traveled the world together until he tragically passed away shortly before my twelfth birthday. They sent me back to the states before placing me in Morning Star Children's Home." Belle wrung her hands nervously, praying he'd believe her. The thought hadn't even entered her mind to lie to him. "The orphanage didn't want older children, and I was way above the age bracket most couples wanted to adopt. They didn't want me, and two years later, I found myself in Celestial Height's Mental Institution. I've been incarcerated there against my will for the last ten years. The living conditions were deplorable, and I was never allowed to leave my room or socialize with the other residents. They falsely diagnosed me with mental disorders, so they could hold me hostage. The government provides the asylum with federal funding for each resident, and I was a liability." She brushed angrily at a stray tear which inched its way down her cheek, hating to show him how much her situation weighed upon her. "I'm twenty-four years old, and tonight was the first night I've been out of the institution in ten years. A resident pulled the fire alarm, providing me with the perfect opportunity to escape. I bolted the moment I was out of there, and stumbled upon your charming residence. I was able to shimmy the lock and break in, but I can assure you that all I'm here for is a hot shower and a warm bed to sleep in. This tale may seem farfetched, but I promise you it's one hundred percent true," she finished, wrapping her arms tightly around her lithe frame.

His mind buzzed with queries, but deep down he knew she wasn't lying. He was aware of the corruption sown in this city, and it was one of the many reasons he desired to relocate. The town was full of nothing but hypocrites, and he was certain the most honest one of Misthaven's citizens was sitting on his bed. Her cheeks were ashen, and she was abnormally thin for her age. He assumed it was because the asylum didn't provide her with a nutritious diet. Calling the authorities meant she would be subjected to an even worse fate, and he wasn't that cruel.

"I'm not sure what to make of any of this," he paused, running a hand through his hair, and blowing out a long breath, "but I vow not to turn you in. We've only just met, but you've found yourself a worthy ally, Miss. French. My name is, Everett Gold," he introduced as he sauntered back towards the bed. Belle blushed deeply as she took in his half naked form.

"Please call me, Belle," she insisted, averting her gaze shyly.

"What a lovely name," he complimented, and Belle couldn't help but believe how peculiar this situation truly was.

"Mr. Gold, I know this is your home, and I have no right to ask this of you, but could you please put a shirt on?" she requested, her cheeks flushing at the sight of him. He was a middle aged man with brown hair streaked with silver. He was lithe and on the short side, and certainly not unpleasant to look at. Looking at him made her warm, something she wasn't at all used to.

"My apologies," he remarked, clearing his throat uncomfortably. He picked up his discarded dress shirt and slacks, and put them on.

"Thank you," she stammered, fisting the sheets nervously. He hesitantly touched her shoulder to soothe her.

"Belle, I know that we've just become acquainted, but you don't need to fear me. I'm not going to let anything happen to you while you're in my care," he reassured her. She felt the knot in her chest relax from his declaration.

"Pardon me, but I can't understand why you would care about the well-being of someone who'd just broken into your home." she countered, her body tightening as she imagined her tiny padded room back at the asylum. He would send her back there. There was no earthly reason why he should be so kind as to let her stay.

"Because I see a broken young woman who's become a shell of her former self. You have nowhere to go, and no one to fight for you. You need a benefactor, someone to propel you through this hard time in your life. At the end of this week, I'm leaving Misthaven forever. I've purchased some lakeside property in a small town in northern Maine. You could come with me if you like." His heart hammered in his chest, and couldn't for the life of him understand how this small slip of a girl could incite such feelings within him. "The house is more than spacious enough for two. You could stay there awhile until you get on your feet," he offered, and Belle felt something she hadn't felt in ages stir inside her; hope.

"I want to go with you, but there's something I must do to ensure my safety," she returned, swallowing back the bile in her throat.

"And what would that be?" he inquired, furrowing his brow.

"I need a different name and a new identity." she revealed, biting her lip worriedly.

"I'll make a few phone calls first thing in the morning, and see what I can do. You take the bed, and I'll go downstairs and sleep on the couch," he offered, walking towards the door.

"Good night, Mr. Gold and thank you again," she sighed before sinking back under the covers.

"Goodnight, Belle," he returned, flicking off the switch and closing the door behind him. Belle drew in a contented breath, relishing the surreality of everything which had just transpired. She didn't trust Mr. Gold but if he could make a way of escape for her, then she would certainly take it.

~X~

Everett wasn't sure what had gotten into him. What was he thinking, letting a young woman who'd escaped from the institution stay with him? The moment he gazed into those brilliant blue orbs he was a goner. Gold wasn't a charitable man, and he rarely helped those in need, but there was something bewitching about this girl which he couldn't ignore. Some primal urge deep within him yearned to protect her. He made himself a makeshift bed on the couch and closed his eyes, dreaming of nothing but deep pools of blue.

~X~

Belle roused from her sleep by the sound of steady knocking against the door. She yawned drowsily, observing the sunlight which filtered through the blinds. "Come in!" she resounded to the occupant on the other side. Gold hesitantly opened the door with a neatly folded pile of clothes in his hands.

"Good morning, Belle. I thought you might like something to wear, and these are some clothes I planned to donate. They belonged to my ex-wife, and she was about your size," he supplied, handing her the garments.

"Thank you," Belle returned, fingering the pristine attire.

"Come downstairs once you're dressed, and we'll have some breakfast. I can only imagine how famished you must be," he remarked, and she blushed as her stomach gave a slight grumble.

"Don't trouble yourself, Mr. Gold. I'll be fine," she half-smiled as the bed slightly shifted as he positioned himself on the edge of the mattress.

"It isn't any trouble at all, and you need your strength. I'm not trying to pry, but what were you fed there on a daily basis?" he inquired, genuine concern flashing in his sable depths.

"Most of the time it was stale bread and tap water. Sometimes I received gruel for breakfast. It was never filling or provided much nourishment, but it kept me from going hungry," she answered, his countenance faltering at her admittance.

"I know you've been locked up for a long time, but is there something from your childhood you loved to eat? Did you have a favorite food back then?" he probed, and she blinked her ginger lashes softly. It was uncanny for anyone to ask about her favorite things, and she felt foolish for being unable to supply an answer instantaneously. She scoped her brain for the slightest inkling of what meals she enjoyed as a child.

"It's strange to actually have choices again. I remember my father and I having pancakes drowned in maple syrup at a Waffle House once. They were so delicious," she sighed, recounting the taste of warm fluffy pancakes and sticky sweet syrup.

"Pancakes it is then," he nodded, smiling gently at her. Her heart fluttered at his generosity. He wordlessly exited his chamber, and she found herself alone again inside the spacious bedroom. She picked up the outfits he'd left her, examining them curiously. She tried on the jeans which were too big. She settled on a yellow sundress with a leather belt tied around the middle. It was smaller than the rest of the clothes, and fit her like a glove. She finger brushed out her tangles, and headed downstairs where he awaited her.

As she made her way into the kitchen, the delectable aroma of freshly made pancakes assaulted her nostrils. She licked her lips absentmindedly, pulling out an empty chair and seating herself at the table. Everett was clad in a pair of navy slacks and white collared shirt. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, and Belle found it unusual that someone would wish to cook in such apparel. She gazed at his mostly empty kitchen, a wave of melancholy shrouding her senses. She couldn't help but feel a tad despondent for having to leave such a queer place behind. She wondered what compelled him to buy this residence in the first place. It didn't seem the type of place Mr. Gold would set his roots.

"All finished!" he announced, setting a plate of flapjacks in front of her. His breath hitched in his throat when he got a glimpse of her in the yellow sundress. She was breathtaking.

"I have maple syrup and some fresh strawberries in the fridge, if you prefer fruit," he supplied, gesturing towards the refrigerator.

"Just some syrup, if you don't mind," she replied demurely. He opened the fridge and grabbed the half empty bottle off the shelf. His cupboards were bare except for a few meager items. He would probably have to order them takeout until the move on Friday. He handed her the bottle. Their fingers barely brushed as she plucked it from his grasp, an electric current surging through him from the brief contact.

"I think I'll have a pancake myself," he remarked, desperately needing something to do with his hands. His house guest was certainly going to be a distraction for his raging testosterone. Everett Gold had lived a life of celibacy since his wife had left him high and dry ten years ago. He buried himself in his work without giving his love life a second thought. He savored his privacy, and dating entailed sharing it. He pushed these nonsensical thoughts from his brain as he settled in the chair adjacent from her.

"This is delicious," she commented, stabbing her fork into another slice of pancake.

"I'm glad you're enjoying it," he replied, mimicking her actions. He noted a coating of syrup on her upper lip, and he felt his throat tighten as she licked away the confection with her tongue. The blood rushed straight to his groin as he observed her sensual display. He knew she wasn't doing it on purpose, and he couldn't understand his body's uncanny responses. Everett felt like a pervert as he averted his gaze to his own plate. It was going to be a very long week...

A loud knock resounded from the front door, startling them both. "I wonder who that could be," he remarked as he made his way to the door. Belle stiffened when she heard the knock, quickly excusing herself. She sprinted up the stairs, and he heard the door slam. His heart wrenched in pain for the girl who'd suffered so much. She was as skittish as a deer. He opened the door to be met by a dark skinned woman wearing a police uniform. She had deep chocolate eyes and long ebony locks.

"May I help you, officer?" Everett inquired, attempting to appear as inconspicuous as possible.

"I apologize for the interruption, sir. My name is Tamara, and last night a patient escaped from Celestial Heights. Her name is Belle French, and she's a danger to herself and those she encounters. She has several mental disorders, and we just want to bring her home safely. She was said to be seen wandering around this neighborhood last night, and I was wondering if maybe you'd encountered her," Tamara inquired as she produced a photo of Belle.

"I'm afraid I haven't, officer. I arrived home late last night, and I didn't see anyone," he fibbed, narrowing his gaze at the woman.

"I see, well if you happen to run into her or discover her whereabouts, then please give us a call," Tamara stated, nodding slightly.

"Will do, officer," he answered as he watched Tamara march down the steps and towards her patrol car. I'll turn her in as soon as they start passing out slurpees in hell, he thought silently. He closed the door behind him, watching her depart from the glass. He glanced up at the staircase where Belle was curiously watching him.

"You didn't turn me in..." she said in disbelief.

"Why would I do that? You've already mentioned the horrors of that place." he returned, sauntering towards the stairwell.

"But what if I was lying?" she tested, a lump of anxiety filling her throat.

"But you weren't, I knew you were telling the truth the moment I saw trepidation permeating your countenance. A truly sane person wouldn't lie about that. When we arrive in Storybrooke, I'll provide you with anything you need. There's a world renowned psychiatrist which lives there. If you need counseling, then I'm sure he could be of some assistance," he expounded.

"I'm not sure if I'm ready to see any more doctors or therapists. I had those thrown at me on a daily basis back in the sanatorium. They were either feeding me drug cocktails or conducting false psych evaluations on me. They attempted to convince me I was crazy and that I needed to be there. Sometimes I pretended to be mental, so they wouldn't result to torturing me until I relented," she explained, and he could tell the way her body trembled that she was reliving those hellish nightmares subconsciously.

He wasn't sure how much contact she would appreciate as he cautiously ascended the stairs. He reached out to brush her shoulder slightly with his fingertips. She flinched at the obtrusion. He pulled his hand away, tucking it awkwardly at his side. "I'm sorry, Belle. I can't even begin to imagine the horrors you've been subjected to, but I promise to assist in your recovery however I can," he vowed.

She nodded, keeping a comfortable distance between them. "Thank you, Mr. Gold," she returned. He watched her continue up the steps and back down the hallway to his chamber. He ran his fingers through his silvery locks agitatedly. Where was he even to begin when it came to helping his beautiful house guest? He gave her the bed, opting for crashing on the couch the remainder of the week leading up to their big move. The conversations shared between them during that week were far and few between. Belle was apprehensive when it came to sharing too much of her history or the way she felt, but he aspired to change all of that. He found himself contemplating ways to get her to open up to him, but it wouldn't be until they arrived in Storybrooke that he had any success.

Their move to the small provincial town was rather uneventful. They'd both concocted a story to tell his son about how she was a former boarder of his. They'd fabricated a lie about how she'd been living with him since she graduated high school in the salmon Victorian. Neal couldn't figure out why his papa would leave out such an essential detail about his life, but Emma wasn't quite convinced. Emma had been in the foster system her entire life, bounced around from home to home, and she could tell an orphan when she saw one. The hollowness reflected behind the beauty's eyes told her everything she needed to know. She decided not to press the issue of her father-in-law's mysterious tenant, figuring the poor girl had probably already endured enough without her scrutinizing.

She'd dropped her former moniker and began going by the name of Lacey Knight. She bleached her long dark chestnut tresses, opting for a short platinum blond pixie cut instead. Her azure eyes were easily concealed with a pair of jade contacts. Everett was able to draw up some paperwork that would ensure Belle's transition to her new identity of Lacey Knight without speculation, thanks to some friends in high places. Lacey hadn't had any real schooling beyond the sixth grade, and Gold decided to provide her with online classes to help obtain her GED. He expected her to take a languid pace, but within a month, she'd passed the test and already enrolled in a few online classes to jump start her degree program.

Lacey had confided in Everett that she had dreams of becoming a librarian one day. He knew it would take at least four years to receive her degree, but he yearned for her to achieve her dreams sooner. Storybrooke had a quaint library which was run by an elderly woman known as, Thelma Shoe. Mrs. Shoe was old and hunchbacked, and had a hard time attending to the library as she had in years past. Everett had spent a few hours one Saturday afternoon with her, convincing her to hire a part time assistant which could aid her in shelving books and assisting visitors with their selections. Mrs. Shoe thought it was a splendid idea and with a bit of coaxing, the mayor agreed to allot enough funds from the town treasury to hire an assistant who worked four hours each afternoon and all day on Saturday. Lacey was reluctant but eager to begin her new journey of immersing herself fully into working class society. Gold made sure his tenant had everything she desired, from her education down to her wardrobe of high heels and pencil skirts.

Lacey didn't want Everett to feel like she was taking advantage of his generosity, so she began slipping him a few hundreds every month for rent. He wasn't too keen about her desire to compensate him, but she desired her independence. One day when she was more stable, she planned to get her own place. In the entirety of the year they'd become acquainted, Lacey finally began to see her benefactor as somewhat of a friend. She'd never done well with expressing her feelings, and cultivating a real human relationship with someone felt alien to her.

She and Everett took their meals together every night. It was practically the only part of the day they spent together. Lacey spent her mornings working on her course work and her afternoons working at the library, while Everett spent his running a local antiques dealership alongside his son. This gave them little to no time to spend together, and she couldn't figure out why it bothered her so much. He wasn't obligated to gift her with a second of it. She found between attending college and working at the library, she'd distracted herself from the pain of her imprisonment festering deep inside her heart. Her mind was engrossed in her many tasks during the day, but at night her days spent in the asylum manifested themselves within her nightmares.

Everett's bedroom was downstairs while Lacey's was upstairs. He was typically a heavy sleeper, but one night he found himself tossing and turning in bed and unable to fall asleep. He groaned, pushing the covers back, and prodding into the kitchen for a glass of water. He procured a glass from the cupboard, filling it with tap water. He took a few sips of the tepid liquid, nearly dropping his cup after hearing a blood curling scream erupting from her chamber. He pitched the cup in the sink, dashing up the stairs to her room. He flung open the door to find her holding her head in agony, while screaming for them to stop. She convulsed violently as if she were reenacting an electric shock therapy treatment. He climbed into bed after her, pulling her against his slender frame. She thrashed for a few moments before opening her eyes. Her breathing eased once she realized it was only a dream. He expected her to pull away from him, but instead she leaned further into his embrace.

"Mr. Gold, what are you doing here?" she inquired with labored breaths.

"I got up because I couldn't sleep, and I heard you screaming. I just wanted to make sure you were okay," he supplied, his voice filled with concern.

"It was only a nightmare. It happens almost on a nightly basis. During the day, I can escape my tormenting memories spent at the asylum, but at night it's nearly impossible unless I choose not to sleep," she confided in him.

"You don't have to tell me anything you aren't comfortable with, but I'll stay here with you if you need me to," he offered, bidding her closer.

She wasn't entirely certain if the pawnbroker held any type of affections for her or if he was simply being kind. She didn't have it in her right mind to care as she closed her eyes, snuggling closer to him.

"Please." she murmured. He spooned himself comfortably behind her, wrapping his arms securely around her waist. His hot breath fanning against her neck and his sage musk lulled her into a peaceful dreamless state. For the first time in twenty-five years, she truly felt safe.

Morning descended quickly upon them. Lacey awoke to feel him pressed pleasantly against her backside, and she didn't have it in her heart to move. Soft snuffles erupted from his lips as she felt his grip on her tighten. She'd never been this close to anyone before, and surprisingly she wasn't put off by his close proximity. His arms felt like a safe haven, she never wished to abandon. For a moment, she let herself believe he might actually desire her in an intimate way, until her insecurities reared their ugly head. Who was she kidding? She was a damaged broken girl without a home. The only reason he allowed her to stay here was because he pitied her. She was nothing more than his charity case, a tax write off at the end of the year.

Tears stung her eyes as she ripped herself away from his soothing embrace. His eyes fluttered open, filling with confusion from her sudden movement. "Lacey, what's wrong?" he asked, reaching for her hand. She yanked it back before he could touch her.

"I don't understand? What's the matter?" he probed, abashed by her sudden reaction. Moments prior she was contentedly cocooned in his warmth, and now she wanted nothing to do with him.

"Why did you ever concede to take in such a broken girl, Everett?" she answered as tears streamed down her ruddy cheeks.

His gaze flickered between her and the wall. "I grew up in the slums of Glasgow, Scotland. My mother died shortly after I was born, and my father couldn't have cared less about me. He drank himself into an early grave when I was seven years old. I was sent to live with an elderly aunt whom I lived with until I was eighteen. I aspired to better myself and got a college education in business financing. I moved to the states where there were better work opportunities and began building my empire from there. I met my wife, Milah when I was twenty-three, and we had a son shortly after. Our marriage ended in divorce after fifteen years, and I became the sole caretaker of my son. She ran off with some younger and better looking cruise ship captain and never returned." He drew in a deep breath, disbelieving he'd delivered practically his entire life story in a single breath. He wondered fleetingly if she thought him a pathetic dupe for the mistakes of his past. He sighed. "That night I saw you in my bed, I saw a reflection of my younger scared self. I felt compelled to protect you and give you the life you always deserved. I didn't do it out of pity or guilt. I did it because I wanted to. The only thing I expect in return is for you to be happy and thrive. Over the last year, I've come to care for you very much, but I'm not a selfish man. I would never push myself on you. You're not obligated to reciprocate anything I feel for you, but if you ever wanted something more, then I'm open to it, at your pace and in your timing, of course," he professed.

Her heart hammered in her chest from his confession. Did she dare allow herself to feel anything but isolation and darkness? Could anyone, dare she say it, love her? Her heart was a scrambled disarray of emotion, and she couldn't quite put into words what she felt for the pawnbroker. Her body expressed what her heart wasn't able as she drew herself back into his arms. He traced obsolete patterns along her back as she pressed her lips fervently against his. He returned the kiss just as eagerly. She pulled away, averting her gaze demurely.

"Lacey, I-" he halted as she placed a delicate finger against his lips.

"Please, don't call me by that name when we're alone. You're the last person who knew me as Belle, and you were the only person who cared about her. I want you to address me by my real name," she requested.

"Whatever you wish, sweetheart," he conceded, cradling her face in his weathered hands.

"Thank you," she said, smiling brokenly at him.

Over the next several weeks, Everett and Belle began dating. Their dates included frequenting the local town diner and taking spontaneous weekend getaways when she was able to find someone to take her Saturday shift at the library. Everett convinced her to visit the town therapist, a middle aged man named, Archie Hopper. He was very professional and charismatic, helping her sort through a lot of her issues. Archie prescribed her some Prozac to help maintain her anxiety and depression. As another year passed, she began to feel more confident and genuinely happy for once. Mrs. Shoe retired as the head librarian and turned it completely over to her. She still had two more years left in her degree program, and the mayor agreed to provide her with the funds to hire another assistant. She chose Grace, a curious high school graduate whose father owned a local hat shop in town.

Belle arrived home one crisp autumn afternoon to find a vase of red tipped roses sitting on the counter. She traipsed over to the counter, fingering the velvet petals between her fingertips. She bent over to smell one of the blooms, sighing pleasantly as she felt two willowy arms snake around her waist. Everett placed a sensual kiss on her nape, sending heat pooling in her belly.

"Welcome home, sweetheart," he muttered against her skin. She turned around to face him, adoration flickering across her gaze.

"What's the occasion?" she inquired, referring to the roses.

"Us. Go upstairs, and you'll find a special garment laid across your bed. Put it on and meet me downstairs in thirty minutes. I'm taking you out to dinner," he commanded, placing his hand on the small of her back.

Belle felt her toes curl pleasantly from his thoughtful gesture. She practically bounded up the stairs to find a royal blue sequined cocktail dress draped across the mattress. She picked up the gown, placing it in front of her to model in front of the full length mirror. She excitedly divested herself of her clothing and put it on. The gown accentuated her supple curves and highlighted her shapely legs, one of Everett's favorite features of hers. She paired the gown with her favorite suede pumps. She'd allowed her hair to lengthen out past her shoulders over the last two years, but she still chose to keep it blonde. She mussed up her curls with a bit of gel and painted on her favorite rose tinted lacquer. She descended the stairs to find her boyfriend dressed in one of his black silver pinstriped suits.

He gave an low appreciative whistle as his eyes roamed over her immaculate form. "You look stunning, darling," he crooned, offering her his hand as she came down the last step. She blushed girlishly at his compliment. Desire for her danced in his deep ocher eyes, and she felt a pleasant shiver creep up her spine from his amorous gaze.

"Shall we be on our way then?" he asked, gesturing towards the door with his free hand.

"Lead the way." She smiled, allowing him to escort her out of the cabin.

~X~

Everett had driven three towns over to dine at a refined establishment called, The Enigma . The five star restaurant was famous for its wide array of cuisine from all across the globe. It was said they had a chef from nineteen countries who specialized in certain dishes.

They ignored the stares they were eliciting from the refined crowd as they made their way to The Enigma's entrance. Belle clung to Everett's arm securely, waiting for the Japanese woman wearing coal black eyeliner to seat them.

"Do you have a reservation?" she inquired in her thick accent to the couple.

"Yes, it's under Gold," Everett supplied.

The hostess nodded in the direction of a man standing by the stairway entrance to the dining hall. "Marcelo will escort you to your table."

"Wait, why are we dining here?" Belle inquired to Everett with a raised brow.

"I made us a reservation," he winked, leading them in Marcelo's direction.

"I bet a cup of coffee is overpriced," she countered, unhappy about his decision to spend money so frivolously. He was always splurging on her, and the attention bothered her because she wasn't accustomed to being treated so tenderly.

"Cost isn't an option tonight, darling," he assured her as they followed their host to a circular booth with dim lighting. Sophisticated artwork adorned the mahogany walls around them, exuding a refined atmosphere.

"Here are your menus, and your server will be with you shortly," Marcelo supplied in his thick Italian accent, handing them each a menu. Everett scooted close to her as they thumbed through their menus, trying to decide on their first course. There were a few other couples seated around them, and she could hear bits and pieces of their hushed conversations.

"Why are you doing all of this?" Belle quizzed, waving her hand, gesturing towards the elaborate atmosphere.

"Because I love you," he answered, clasping her hand securely in his.

"Sometimes I wonder how you can after everything I've been through," she remarked, tears filling her jade eyes.

"Love knows no boundaries, sweetheart. As damaged as you think you are, it doesn't make you unloveable," he responded, squeezing her hand tightly.

"I love you too, Everett," she returned, her heart thudding heavily in her chest.

"I'm so blessed to call you mine," he said, taking her hand and placing a kiss against the underside of her wrist, his lips caressing the delicate tracery of veins beneath her skin. She shivered.

"Likewise." she muttered, unsure of how to answer him. Everett was always spouting off sweet sentiments like that, but romance made her tongue tied. She wasn't used to anyone putting her first or loving her. They sat in companionable silence while they decided on what to order.

Belle settled on a tossed salad and basil soup, while Everett decided on a three cheese lasagna and a bottle of their finest port. She pushed the lettuce around in her salad, trying to secure just the right amount on her fork for a proper bite. She watched him intricately cut his lasagna into smaller bites. He poured them each a glass of ruby port. Belle moaned in appreciation as the rich raspberry spirits exploded on her tongue euphorically. He glanced at her with a sensual gleam in his eye. She knew exactly what sort of pleasurable activities she wished to engage in, but being isolated for so long made intimacy hard for her. Having a sexual relationship of any kind turned her off because the thought of being touched repulsed her. She wanted to believe it would be different with Everett whenever they decided to take that leap. He'd been extremely patient with her throughout the course of their relationship, always allowing her to set the pace. He placed his lips against the shell of her ear. "Would you like some dessert?" he whispered, her cheeks warming from his close proximity.

"What did you have in mind?" she returned, tilting her head to meet his gaze.

"I hear the sundaes are to die for here," he suggested with a wicked gleam in his eye.

"Do your worst," she smirked as he motioned for their waiter. Her boyfriend had a sweet tooth as big as Willy Wonka's, and she always found herself baking for him. She enjoyed baking because it took her mind off the trauma.

"What would you like, sir, madam?" he inquired, gazing between the couple.

"We would like the Razzle Dazzle Flambe," he supplied, pointing to a picture in the menu of a three layer chocolate cake, drenched in hot fudge sauce, nuts, cherries, and caramel drizzle on top of the whip cream monument which sat atop the dessert. The first layer was lit up with a brilliant orange flame. Belle gasped when two waiters brought it to their table. It was the most delectable concoction she'd ever seen in her life.

"Bon appetit!" the waiters said simultaneously as they placed the confection down in front of them.

"Oh my goodness! It looks delightful!" Belle exclaimed, full of childlike glee.

"Would you like the first taste?" Everett inquired, passing her a spoon.

"Absolutely!" Belle squealed, grabbing the spoon, and dipping it into the cake. Gold felt his groin twitch as she placed the dessert in her mouth, followed by a satisfied moan.

"This is the best thing I've ever eaten," she sighed, relishing the combination of flavors exploding on her palette. He urged her to take another bite, distracting her and giving him time to unveil a thin black box from his suit pocket. A delicate silver calligraphy scrawled on the front read Tiffany and Co.

"What is that?" Belle inquired, placing her spoon on the plate.

"A gift from me. Now, close your eyes and turn around," he instructed. She obediently turned, becoming extremely curious about what was in the box.

"Open them," he commanded, fastening the clasp of her choker.

Belle looked down, flummoxed at the sight before her. She meticulously caressed the sparkling diamond and sapphire choker that contrasted splendidly with her irises.

"Everett, I can't accept this! It must have cost a fortune," she stammered, overwhelmed by his thoughtful gesture.

"I've had this necklace for a very long time. It belonged to my grandmother back in Glasgow. My aunt held onto it for years and gifted it to me before I went off to college. I never gave it to Milah because she wasn't into antique jewelry. I knew she wouldn't appreciate it. I can't imagine anyone else having it but the woman I love more than life itself. Would you please accept it?" he pleaded, drawing her into his arms.

"Yes, I'll accept it, though it feels like a lot," she replied, gazing deeply into his sable depths, shining with so much love for her.

"If I could gift you with all the treasure in the world, it still wouldn't exude the depth of my devotion for you," he said, kissing her crown affectionately.

"I love you, Everett," she smiled tearfully, throwing her arms around him, and kissing him sensually.

He broke the kiss briefly, staring amorously into her eyes. "I have one more thing for you, sweetheart," he stated, placing a finger to her lips. She scooted out of his lap momentarily to observe him procure a small black velvet box from his pocket. Tears spilled over her lashes as she watched him get out of the booth and saunter over to her side. He bent down on one knee in front of her, holding out the box.

"I know I can't change the past, but I know together that we can have a future far brighter than we could ever imagine. Will you marry me?" he proposed, gazing up at her ardently.

"Yes, I'll marry you!" she gushed happily as he placed the three karat diamond upon her third left finger. She threw her arms around him, clinging to him desperately. He ran his fingers through her blond tresses happily, a few tears trekking down his cheek.

"You make me happier than I've ever been in my entire life," he revealed.

"You mean everything to me, Everett," she whispered. He sat back down in the booth, pulling her into his lap, burying his face in her nape. They sat in companionable silence as he nuzzled her collarbone affectionately. Cheers and applause erupted around them, but they barely noticed because they were too caught up in the moment.

"Let's get married immediately, I don't want to wait," she confided as he rose up to meet her gaze.

"I see no point in waiting either. The sooner you procure my last name, the better," he grinned, kissing her softly.

A dark skinned woman having dinner with her husband observed the proposal which unfolded in front of her. She couldn't quite place the blonde woman who was giggling at something her lover had whispered in her ear. Tamara was certain she'd seen her from somewhere before. She was off duty, but decided to take out her phone and scroll through her open case files. A haze of faces infiltrated her vision as she scrolled past each one, until she came to a blue eyed, brown haired young woman with tousled curls. She glanced up at the blonde and back down at the picture of the young woman on her phone. There was no mistaking their similarities. The woman sitting three tables across from her was none other than Belle French, the runaway from Celestial Heights Institution. She studied the middle aged man clad in his expensive suit, realizing he was someone she'd questioned two years ago. The couple appeared to be exceptionally happy, and destroying their happiness seemed petty, especially as the blonde marveled at her new engagement ring under the muted candlelight. She closed out the case file on her phone and placed it back in her handbag.

"Are you ready to go?" Greg Mendel, her husband of three years, and a fellow police officer, inquired.

"Yeah, do you have the check?" she asked as he procured a white strip of paper from off the table.

"Right here," he affirmed, standing up from his chair. Tamara followed him out of the dining hall but not before glancing back at the blissful couple. Everett caught her gaze, and they both gave each other an understanding nod. Belle French was safe, and Tamara had no intention of exploiting her. The case was closed as far as she was concerned.

~X~

"Lacey" and Everett wed three weeks after his proposal. They never dispelled her true origins to anyone because it didn't seem necessary. One year following their nuptials, she gave birth to a beautiful brown haired, sable eyed girl named, Rosalie. As the years ticked by, the wounds festering inside her soul transformed into the scars of a survivor. She learned the institution had been exposed by a case worker who'd became overly suspicious, and they'd shut down the entire operation. Belle reached her dream of becoming a librarian, and she and Everett lived a happy and fulfilling life together.

The End

Beta work by Charlotte Ashmore


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